Page 80 of The Christmas Letter

And as her body arched beneath him, she realised that those things were going to keep them very busy until morning.

Chapter Twenty-six

Holly glanced up at Jack as they walked down the line of stone pillars, towards the main entrance of the hospital. He seemed relaxed enough. But then, he was very good at keeping any big emotions hidden, which made it all so frustrating. And not just because she was wondering how much tension he felt about Emma, but also because she was wondering how he felt about last night. Because it had been incredible – even if a little frustrating. And when she’d woken, her hair tangled and messy on the pillow, one leg trapped between his thighs, she’d just felt . . . content. Even when she’d crept out to shower, leaving Jack looking all sexy and rumpled in the sheets, she hadn’t felt the need to scrabble around for clothing or anything, and he’d made things easy as they got ready, chatting to her like normal.

But stepping into the grand hospital building, now it felt awkward. Like they’d done something wrong – because this was Emma’s grandson, for God’s sake, and Emma had been here, in hospital, while they’d been . . . She snuck a glance up at him again, and this time he saw her doing it, offered her a little smile. Then he hooked an arm around her, pulled her to his side and kissed the top of her head. Like he knew what she was thinking and was trying to reassure her. She tried not to think about how easily she fitted against his side, how right it felt to have his arm around her.

Jack dropped his arm away as they approached the reception desk. ‘Ah, we’re here to see Emma Tooley?’

The man behind the desk pushed up his glasses, looked at the computer screen, then gestured for them to go on through, all without speaking. Though maybe that was because of the Italian-English barrier.

When they found Emma’s room, there was a doctor coming out – a woman in her forties or fifties, long dark hair with a tinge of grey pulled back in a low ponytail over her white coat. ‘Good,’ she said briskly, ‘you’re here.’ The way everyone had to speak English to them made Holly feel a bit embarrassed – why hadn’t she learnt a few languages, just in case?

‘Is she ok?’ Jack asked. And now Holly could see the tension, skirting in around the edges.

The doctor blew out a breath. ‘Well, as ok as she can be, given the circumstances, I would say. But perhaps you can talk to her.’ She glanced between Holly and Jack. ‘Even at this stage there are still options, and after the recent episode perhaps she—’

‘What do you mean?’ Holly interrupted sharply. ‘What stage?’

The doctor frowned. ‘It’s stage four. You knew this, yes?’

Holly felt Jack’s body stiffen next to hers and automatically reached out to lay a hand on his arm at the same time as she shook her head wordlessly. Stage 4. It echoed around her mind, seeming less and less real each time. Because Emma couldn’t have stage 4 cancer. People with stage 4 were really ill, terminal, even, and Emma, she was . . . But even as she tried to deny it, she knew that this is what they’d been skirting around for months now, none of them willing to admit it. Emma not willing to admit it.

‘I’m sorry,’ the doctor was saying. ‘I assumed . . .’ She cleared her throat, an efficient sound. ‘The best thing is to get her back home, then talk to her doctors there. Make a plan. There is only so much we can do here, and it is no use in me talking through the options, because it is not me treating her.’

‘We have a flight this afternoon,’ Holly said, her words feeling numb on her lips.

Jack looked down at her, a slight frown creasing his forehead. She hadn’t told him, she realised. The last few days had felt suspended in time, waiting for what would happen next, and she hadn’t thought to bring up her return flight, because it had seemed irrelevant.

‘Hmm,’ the doctor said. ‘Well, we still need to clear her, do some tests, make sure she is safe to fly. So I’m not sure about today, but tomorrow, or the day after, yes?’

‘Yes,’ Jack said. ‘We can rebook the flights, I’m sure.’

Holly nodded, still feeling numb. Stage 4.

‘I’ll leave you to see her. But perhaps you can talk some sense into her. As I’ve said, best to talk to your doctors back home, but there are things you can do to make it . . .’ – another throat clear – ‘more comfortable.’

Holly watched the doctor leave, her ponytail swishing in time with her quick walk. Had she been alone, she wouldn’t have moved, but Jack was opening the door to Emma’s room and she knew she had to follow.

Emma looked up at them both as they stepped inside, and her expression twisted.

‘So,’ she said. ‘They told you.’

Jack was now holding himself so stiff, Holly thought something might snap. But she didn’t dare touch him – she didn’t want Emma to notice, to ask about it, not when—

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ she asked, stepping towards Emma, tears burning the back of her eyes.

‘Because there’s nothing you can do,’ Emma said flatly. She glanced at Jack. ‘Nothing anyone can do.’

‘But surely there are treatments,’ Holly said quickly. ‘Things that can help prolong—’

‘Let’s not talk about this,’ Emma said, her voice firm.

And that was her go-to, wasn’t it? Let’s not talk about it, let’s pretend it’s not happening. Could Holly really judge that tactic, though? Was there a right way to deal with something like this? Would she deal with it any better?

Dying. Emma was dying. She couldn’t comprehend it. They were on holiday in Venice, for God’s sake.

‘How was yesterday?’ Emma was saying. Jack was still standing, frozen in the doorway. ‘Did you go to Burano?’